


Used to Think I Knew You

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Dark, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was done for the ds_kinkmeme prompt of "Fraser/RayK--they broke up ages ago, but neither one of them is good at letting go, and Fraser's post-Ray jealousy makes Ray's post-Stella jealousy look like nothing." It got really dark on me...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Used to Think I Knew You

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: I put the warning in the end notes, because it's spoilery. But PLEASE read the warning first if you have triggers.
> 
> OOOH, OOOH, edited to add: helens78 did an astonishingly wonderful remix of this, [Since You've Gone (I've Been Lost Without a Trace)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/108441/), from Fraser's POV. Go! Read!

This was a bad idea.

This was a really spectacularly bad idea. And yeah, Ray gets that Welsh meant well, was worried about him, had noticed that he'd lost weight over the last few months, started smoking again, maybe put in waaaaay too much overtime... But coming up with a bullshit reason why Fraser just _had_ to be brought in on this case was not gonna help anybody.

Ray picks at his omelet, watches Fraser's hands as Fraser cuts his pancakes up into tiny, precise pieces. He hadn't thought he could stand seeing Fraser at the station again after four months, but seeing him like this in a place where they used to hang out and laugh and bump knees under the table is maybe worse. And Fraser looks as sick and sad and tired as Ray feels.

"So, Leftenant Welsh thought there was a Canadian connection?" Fraser says, and Ray sighs, opens his mouth to tell Fraser that the only Canadian connection was the suspect's second cousin's sister-in-law, but then the waitress walks up to give them a coffee refill.

She tops off Ray's cup, then pulls a handful of sugar packets out of her apron and puts it in front of him. "Noticed you like it sweet," she says, and gives him a big grin, and sets down an extra cream container. "And milky."

Ray's body kicks into flirt mode reflexively--he slides down in his seat a little, tilts his head back and smiles up at her. "Yeah, well, I'm comfortable in my masculinity," he says.

"I just _bet_ you are," and she winks at him before she walks off, with a little extra wiggle in the walk.

Ray blinks after her, and then he turns to Fraser, ready to share an impressed laugh. Because for a second he's back in _holy shit did you see THAT?_ mode, back when other people trying to hit on either of them was _funny_, because there was no way it was going to work.

But Fraser doesn't look amused. Fraser looks--his eyes have narrowed, and his nostrils are just slightly flared, and he's breathing verrrrrry slowly and evenly, and--oh, Fraser's fucking _furious_, and suddenly Ray is too.

"Oh, no. No. You do not get to do that," Ray says.

"Do what, Ray?"

"You do not get to break things off for some bullshit reasons that add up to 'I'm scared shitless I might end up happy' and then try to act like I shouldn't be getting any."

Fraser stares at him silently for a minute, and then says, "Are you?"

"Am I _what_?"

"Getting any," Fraser says, his mouth doing that little twist it gets when he uses one of Ray's phrases that he finds _distasteful_.

That tears it. So Ray, who hasn't gone on a single date since they split, who still jerks off thinking about Fraser, says, "None of your fucking business," and Fraser stands up, silently puts some cash on the table, and walks out.

**************************************

When the phone rings Ray has to haul himself out of deep murky sleep, and he can't figure out at first why his whole face tickles until he realizes he's lying with his nose in Joan-the-waitress's hair.

He rolls over and grabs the phone, looking at the clock while he does to see it's fucking four a.m. You never get good news at four a.m. And when it's Fraser's voice saying "Hello, Ray," he goes cold inside--something's wrong with Fraser, what happened to Fraser?

"Jesus, Frase, what's wrong?" he says.

Fraser just breathes at him for a minute, then says, "Having fun? She's spending the whole night, apparently? We waited weeks before I did that, as I recall."

"Because you kept saying you had to leave to walk Dief!" Ray whispers, and then says, "Wait, what--are you _watching my building?_"

Silence from Fraser again, and Ray says, "That's fucking creepy. Cut it out," and hangs up, hard.

Joan shifts at the noise, mumbles something that sounds like "Sherbert piano," and snores.

Ray snuggles back down into her hair, wraps his arm around her and pats her belly. It just feels so good to have someone warm and naked and here, and when she stirs and turns to face him and smiles they go at it again. And while she's riding him, bouncing up and down and laughing, for just a few minutes he can lose that sick frightened world's-gone-wrong feeling from hearing Fraser losing his shit.

****************************************

Nothing happens the next week. No calls, no contact; Ray gets a chilly feeling up the back of his neck a couple times when he's picking up takeout or walking out of the gym, but there's no payoff and he decides he's being paranoid. Fraser's probably embarrassed half to death over the way he acted last weekend, just from the shock of seeing each other again. Maybe someday they'll be able to laugh about that. For now, though, Ray isn't calling him and pushing it.

The next weekend he gets that itchy buzzy feeling under his skin, that _I really want to get off with another human being_ fizz. He'd like to see Joan again sometime soon, but now--now he just wants something easy and fast, minimal chatting required, so he heads for a dance club he used to go to, post-Stella and pre-Fraser, while he was figuring out the bi thing.

He's nursing a beer and eyeing the crowd of guys, wondering who he's got a shot for a quickie with, when Fraser walks in.

Jesus, Fraser _has_ been following him. Score one for Ray's Spidey sense.

Ray makes his way through the crowd, getting lightly felt up a couple of times, over to where Fraser's leaning against the wall.

"Hey," Ray says, and Fraser just gives him a flat dead look. "You gotta cut this out, okay?" Ray says. "It's not doing either of us any good," and fuck, Stella was right, it feels just as rotten being the person who's got to say that as it did being the person who had to hear it.

"I'm not conversant with every nuance of American law, of course," Fraser says, "but I was under the impression that it was a free country," and wow, he's got this glacial voice going that Ray's only heard him use on high-level polluters. "So perhaps, Ray, we can both carry on with what we came here to do. I will have a few sips of a no-doubt execrable beer, and you can be a fucking _slut_."

Ray just gapes at him. That voice, and those words, and Fraser isn't _Fraser_, Fraser's _gone_, and Ray's balls are trying to crawl up inside his body.

"Seriously," Ray says, making himself step a little closer when he really doesn't want to, trying to work his most calming, reassuring Good Cop voice. "This is fucking with me too, okay? This sucks, but right now, Fraser, you are being a whack job, you are _not okay_, and you need to go home, all right?"

Fraser surges off the wall, slams into Ray's shoulder as he walks past, and _shoves_ his way through the crowd and out the door. Holy _fuck_.

Ray takes a few deep breaths and pushes his way to the bar, slams down a couple of screwdrivers. After that encounter he figures he'll just drink until he stops feeling like he's got icicles for bone marrow, and then get a taxi home. But while he's finishing screwdriver number two a fairly-hot guy with dreads nudges up next to him and buys him screwdriver number three, and while he's working on number three fairly-hot guy leans back against the bar and says, "You got nice hands. See any place you wanna put 'em?" which is so insanely cheesy it makes Ray laugh.

So five minutes later they're in the men's room, and the guy, who turns out to be a Dave, is sucking Ray's neck and trying to unzip him at the same time, and Ray's moaning with his eyes closed and thinking they should probably stop leaning against the sink for this and get into a stall already. He's feeling a little spinny from pounding down three drinks that fast, though, not eager to move.

Then suddenly there are no hands at his crotch and no tongue on his neck and no warm pressed against him, and Ray opens his eyes to find that Fraser's yanking Dave away from him by his shirt. Fraser shoves Dave away, hard, and says, "Get. Out." Dave puts his palms up in a _hey, calm, I surrender_ kind of way, but looks at Ray and says, "You need reinforcements here, or you two, uh, know each other?"

"I used to know him," Ray says. Fraser flinches and Dave shrugs and backs out of the room.

The door swings shut and Ray starts to say something stupid like "This is gonna hurt less someday, I promise," but before he can make a sound Fraser snarls out, "Your _belt_," and Ray remembers he's half undone here and starts trying to get his belt refastened, but Fraser's suddenly _on_ him and yanking it out of the loops instead, throwing it in a corner.

"What the _fuck_," Ray says, and tries to make for the door but Fraser shoves him up hard against the sink, gets his hand in the back of Ray's hair, tight, and says low in his ear, "You have red marks all up your neck. Did you even know his name?"

"Fraser, Jesus, get _off_ me," Ray says, but Fraser's grabbing his shirt and shoving him into a stall, closing the door behind them.

"What were you going to do?" Fraser says. His face has gone dead white and he's breathing fast, and Ray's looking real hard for the Fraser he _knew_. Or maybe just thought he knew, because Ray's not finding him, at all.

"Was he going to blow you?" Fraser says, "A total stranger? Right here? Show me."

"What?"

"What you were going to let him do to you. What you'd let _anybody_ do to you, apparently. Show me." He yanks down on Ray's hair with one hand and a belt loop with the other, and Ray's not at his best, here, Ray is off-balance from alcohol and from Fraser being out of his fucking _mind_, and he hits his knees hard on the stall floor, almost cracks his head on the toilet.

"_Ow_, Fraser, _fuck_, what are you--" and then Ray doesn't need to ask any more questions, because he gets what is going on here, because Fraser is unzipping his own jeans.

"Fraser," Ray says softly. "You don't wanna do this, buddy," but Fraser's shoving his pants down, pulling his cock out of his boxers.

"What do you care, you'd do it for anybody, anybody who'd let you, no wonder you were so _good_ at it," Fraser says, and pushes his thumb hard into the hinge of Ray's jaw.

Ray could probably fight his way out of this. A short sharp punch to Fraser's dick, and Fraser'd be on the floor and out of commission. Ray could probably even be out of the bathroom before anybody came to see what the screaming was about, out of the club before anyone connected the screaming with _him_.

And Fraser'd get picked up by the cops for disorderly-and-dick-out in a gay bar, and the Mounties would send him to Siberia if they didn't just kick him out entirely.

Ray opens his mouth.

The whole time he's licking and sucking he's almost sick from the--familiarity of it, the good _known_ smell of Fraser's dick, the warmth of Fraser's belly against his forehead, the little moans just like the noises he used to make in Ray's bed, and at the same time all the wrongness, all the _no no wrong not like this_.

Fraser shoves in hard, over and over, and Ray doesn't open his throat--he'd gotten pretty good at that, with Fraser. He's not doing it now.

Fraser pushes and pushes, and Ray's head is banging against the side of the stall, and finally, finally Fraser comes.

Ray chokes on it a little, and Fraser pulls out.

Ray slumps to a sit in the corner of the stall, wraps his arms around his knees, puts his head down on his arms and coughs for a while.

There's a zipper noise, and then the heat of Fraser crouching next to him, and Fraser says, "Ray..."

He sounds like he's back, a little bit. He sounds like he's maybe in there, somewhere.

Ray keeps his head down.

"My _God_, Ray, I don't know what I--" Fraser says. "I'm so sorry, I--" and he touches Ray's shoulder and Ray scoots back, fast, further into the corner.

"I think you need to go home," Ray says. He's studying the floor. It's pretty filthy.

"I can't just go to the Consulate and leave you like this," Fraser says, and he's already gotten back the "Ray, you are so misguided" tone. _Let me tell you why you're wrong_ comes back before anything else--it's kind of funny, really.

Ray laughs a little, but it hurts his throat after all the coughing.

"I meant Canada," he says, and he doesn't look up until he hears the restroom door swinging shut behind Fraser.

 

\---end---

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Rape/non-con.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Since You've Gone (I've Been Lost Without A Trace)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/108441) by [helens78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78)




End file.
